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@withereth | plotted text starter
It was still warm enough that as he was comfortable as he walked down the sidewalk, phone in hand.
[text: finnick, annie] I'm fine [text: finnick, annie] Met a girl at the bar. She has my shirt still. Can I give you my location? Ya'll come pick me up?
Starter for @withereth
Visha was never the bestest at cooking that is if burning food could even be called good cooking. Then again the girl never had to cook her family had chefs for that. Coming from money like old money on top of her father is literally a ceo type money the girl isn't exactly ready for adult life in college with people like her new roommate asterid who is very different from the spoiled kids she always went to school with when she was younger and from her family where imperfection isn't allowed. So you could imagine coming from a family like that good impressions are everyone to her mainly now that she cut off her family. So here she is in the kitchen of her and asterids dorm(or apartment whichever) trying to cook dinner and so far it hadn't been well burnt pans, burnt food everywhere even at one time she swore the stove top was on fire but at least she put it out.... so looking at the mess made of the kitchen and the many many failed tries at dinner she texts asterid
[Txt from visha to asterid]: soooo um I learned I can't cook...
[Txt from visha to asterid]: im kinda destroyed the kitchen but don't worry I'll have it clean before you get back I promise.... with brownies I can't cook but I can make some good peanut butter chocolate brownies
[Txt from visha to asterid]: im going to order food. What would you want to eat?
@withereth feat. asterid / a mostly plotted starter
katniss is as insistent as ever to help get little primrose to bed. she seems to have mostly come back around from the earlier shock from this morning. asterid never yelled. never raised her voice. it had shocked him too.
but, they’ve managed to get prim sleeping, one of her tiny toddler fists curled around a few of her sister’s fingers in a grip she couldn't release, even if she'd wanted to. burdie’s knelt beside the bed, tucking her in and singing a sweet lullaby as he smooths hair from her forehead. asterid sits on the bed right beside him, despite the tension between them, with whatever is to come once they close the lone door to their shared bedroom, they stay nearby each other. a united front for their girls.
he watches gray eyes begin fluttering shut and kisses the top of her head tenderly, with a quick word of sweet dreams and steps aside so her mother can do the same, before quietly exiting to the front porch to wait.
burdock considers simply collapsing into the hammock strung up on their little porch. it was still usable, of course, but he’d been meaning to fix it, as some of the rope had begun breaking down over the years. it was constantly shelved for more important tasks, though. retinning the roof, fixing a board on the side of the house, or that damn broken step that made him twist his ankle when it caved in as he’d come home from work a few years back when prim was just a baby.
he’s staring at it, leaned up against the porch’s railing with his arms crossed over his chest when asterid comes out. there was a small pile of old rope sitting in the backyard that he'd set aside, waiting for this hammock. and katniss had gotten her hands on it instead to make necklaces of rope from the hanging tree.
he looks at her for a quick moment before his gaze falls again, back to the hammock with its aging rope and holes that his daughter’s little feet slipped through. maybe he should redo it entirely? use fabric? the rope had been inexpensive at the cost of a lot of time, but he’d had what felt like endless time back then.
burdock unfolds his arms, rests his hands upon the railing behind him, but still can’t manage to meet her gaze.
“Go on,” he urges, gentle as ever, because he’s got no idea what’s coming. more yelling? surely not. at least he hoped. they'd managed to be civil when he and katniss returned from the meadow. the little girl had even run to her mother's arms after burdie promised her she wasn't mad at her. that she could never be mad at her. maybe not his best promise given katniss' sass. but, somehow, he’d crossed a line without meaning to, without knowing it was there to cross. “Let me have it.”
dash game !
muse's handwriting, ft. a letter to annie left on her bedside table, the morning of finnick's return to the capitol.
tagged by : @withereth tagging : @strengthinus , @resisteence , and anyone else !
@withereth sent 🥂 Press a kiss on the receiver's lips / cheek while a little tipsy. From Cashmere to Calico!
at first she thought cashmere missed her cheek. it wasn't like she was keeping track, but she'd seen calico's choice of champagne. it was good champagne, she couldn't blame her. then she noticed the glint in her eye and reached out to pull her closer. "you don't have to stop." she whispered, almost scared to admit she wanted her to keep going. they were always watching. caring scared her. it frightened her to think that someone could notice how much calico had grown to care for cashmere or how much time they spent at each other's home's and use it against one of them if they displeased anyone. but she wanted to kiss her. here in private, in her home, if there was any where safe it had to be here. "do you want to kiss me?" she asked hopefully.
❛ how's this ? ❜ katniss turns her drawing toward him , showing the sketch of the fish she's been working on. finnick has been helping her learn things of district four to add to her notebooks of herbs to heal or poison &* recipes &* general guide to surviving in the wild. it has been years since the games , but there is so little in the ways of things to be taught to children. education was so restricted under snow's regime that districts were basically only taught their trade &* the capitol's propaganda. nothing practical like this was going to be taught when it meant kids might actually survive those games. all of it kept katniss alive , though. @withereth knew of the ocean she'd never had access to. ❛ you said this one is poisonous except cooked correctly ? doesn't seem worth the risk. ❜
in the week leading up to reaping day, maysilee keeps mostly to the victors' village. the nightmares always seem to return in full force at this time of year, her biological clock needlessly accurate even decades after the fiftieth games. it's not just her body forgetting it's no longer in the arena -- it's how she dreads playing the mentor role yet again, year after year. she's no good at it, and maysilee's not sure how many more kids she can bear to lose before she breaks.
most of all, she worries for madge. there's this unspoken rule that the mayor's pull will stop her from being reaped, but maysilee knows better than to blindly rely on it. if snow decided to continue punishing her family, there was no amount of wealth or prestige that would stop him.
so she drags herself to the mayor's home, ignoring the prolonged looks she gets from people in town. most of them are kind enough not to stare as a general rule, but they can't seem to help themselves the closer they get to reaping day. she's a lost cause and a tragedy, never came back the same, they'd say. they never realized maysilee simply stopped playing the part that was expected of her.
bobbi lets her into the house, knowing to expect a visit from maysilee sooner or later. she'd come see her sister often, especially during this time. maysilee was never any good at offering comfort, but she'd try for merrilee - for madge too.
"there she is." maysilee puts on her best smile when she finds madge in her room. she never shies away from showing her true feelings around her niece, but it's ill-timed now, when madge surely has enough on her mind already. "haven't come to see you all in a while. didn't want you to forget my face," she jokes in an attempt to lighten the mood.
@withereth
02. exhaling sharply through their nose and clenching their jaw. / from Cashmere to Finnick! / @withereth
It’s only going to get worse as the night goes on. Sure, the crowds have been massive all week — there is nothing more exclusive or sought after than the Game Center this time of year, and everyone who’s anyone with cash to burn on betting is bound to make an appearance — but they still have two days of training left. Finnick, as is his design, has secured at least seven sponsors ( one of them likes playing coy, but who says no to a promise from Finnick Odair in the end? ) and takes a moment to lose himself in the swell, grabbing a drink that he watches the bartender pour with laser focus.
He is not the only Capitol Darling working the room, of course. The faces of Victors are even more familiar than his Capitol regulars, despite the limited time they get with each other each year. Some of the older ones, the fan favorites who still ooze charisma even though the games and time’s passage have made them more than a little eccentric, can get away with conversations. Games, gambling, secret deals. The rest of them?
They have other assets to sell.
Finnick would be shocked not to see Cashmere here, lovely and glowing under the otherworldly blue lights that turn the luxury building into something that looks like the tame fantasy of a nightclub. Slipping quietly to the other side of the bar ( he’s probably not escaping the ever watching eyes the way he wants to, but Finnick has become something of an expert at walking the razor thin line of the true games: the shark infested waters that Victors call living ), he settles into the seat next to her, popping an elbow on the counter and wearing one of his more obnoxious grins.
She does not look happy. Finnick wonders if it’s one of the could-be Capitol sponsors, or if it’s simply … everything. He gives her space to breathe for a moment, a single sliver of time where they can remember to be a little human, then finds his voice.
❝ I don’t know how your stylist outdoes themself every year, and yet! Here you are. ❞ He lifts his glass to her, as if waiting for her to cheers him. Hopefully, if anyone is looking their way, they’d recognize her expression as a typical response to Finnick Odair’s charmingly annoying banter — and, of course, nothing more serious or dangerous than that. ❝ I hope you don’t mind if I steal your attention for a little while; it’s nice sitting somewhere the speakers don’t rattle your spine. ❞
